the megalomaniacal reliable illusions of viable power
is injected to these rappers who think their styles like pliable hours
when I freestyle you cower, ingenious when I write this thesis
my style will be bit to pieces, and I'll attack them like I fight diseases
cause' they are leeches, biting with glass jaws in glass halls
shatter their last calls with punchline 'boxing' like bath stalls
spit inferno till they covered in wrath's walls, and that's all
killing them, now it's hats off for a person who's that small
fuck all of that, I'll bury them in two hundred gallons of ether
massacring feeble people for pleasure like Stalin when he hurt
you don't see dirt, just ill flows that still glow and will go
to the point of no return, and come back when the kills grow
then we'll know who's the supreme verbalist in this business
my consensus is solidified within the eyes of these lyricists
typical materialists rhyming for the money and fame
they are just the dummies in pain transformed into the dummies with no name.